“She was cleared of charges?”
“Cops cleared her, but she didn’t clear herself. Couldn’t shake the guilt. That’s why my parents didn’t like her. A lot of baggage.”
“You know a lot about her.”
A smile tweaked the edge of his lips. “Good to know the threats to your family.”
“You considered her a threat?”
“I did then.”
“And now?”
“I haven’t thought about her in over a dozen years.”
Winchester studied Edwards. “But you said Rory was asking about her a while back.”
“He was asking. I couldn’t have cared less about her s long as she kept her hooks out of Rory.”
“Elizabeth and Rory dated at Shady Grove.”
“Yes. We weren’t allowed any contact with him for the first thirty days he was in treatment. And then after that we could only exchange letters. His first letter to us was dedicated to Elizabeth. He went on and on about how beautiful she was and how the accident wasn’t her fault.”
“Is that what she told him?”
“She insisted another car ran her off the road. The cops didn’t agree.” He tugged at his cuff. “I don’t know. The girl killed her brother and another girl, so it stood to reason she was messed up. We didn’t have a grievance against her, just didn’t want her kind around.”
“Her kind?”
“Damaged goods.”
A muscle ticked in Bragg’s jaw. Edwards could have been talking about Mitch. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
Winchester moved toward a wall of awards and photos. He studied them closely when he said, “Sounds like you did a good bit of digging after that letter.”
“Like I said, it pays to know your enemies. Dad and I wanted Rory to get well, not get entangled with a very injured girl like Elizabeth.”
“Rory had his share of troubles.”
“I don’t deny it. But he’d never have gotten better hanging around other damaged kids.” He shook his head. “If it had been one letter, we’d not have worried. But Rory kept talking about her, and then he sent the letter saying he and Elizabeth wanted to run away together.”
“That’s when you pulled him out,” Bragg said.
“Yes. Dad and Mom told him it was time to leave Shady Grove. Rory was furious and refused to go. He said he was close to his friends and had promised never to leave them. But in the end he had no choice.”
“Any more contact with Elizabeth?”
“She kept writing him letters. I intercepted them and told Rory she hadn’t written. A couple of weeks after Rory came home Elizabeth showed up on our doorstep. She asked him to run away with her. Rory wanted to go. Dad ordered him back to his room, and though Rory hesitated, he obeyed. Elizabeth fell off the radar right after.”
“And what did Rory do after that?”
“A month later he ran away. He was nineteen and there wasn’t much any of us could do. We heard he tried to find Elizabeth, but she was gone by then. He begged Dad to hire detectives, but Dad refused. I can tell you her mother is still in Austin. She might know how to find her.”
“Do you know how Elizabeth reacted to Rory’s rejection?” Winchester said. He’d picked up a round crystal award and handled it like it was a baseball.
Edwards frowned. “Don’t know and don’t care. She left, which was good enough for me.”
“I’ll ask her mother,” Bragg said. “She should know where her daughter is.”
“My mother knew the Templeton family. After the accident Mrs. Templeton would talk about Jeff, the son she lost, but she never mentioned Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth had made a terrible mistake as a teenager. She’d killed two people. And then tried to kill herself. As much as he disapproved of the girl’s choice a part of him pitied her. Some people, like his sister, were simply weak by nature.
What he needed to figure was if her past losses drove her to now kill.
Edwards rested his hands on his hips. “Do you really think Elizabeth could be involved in this? It’s been twelve years since the two saw each other.”
“It’s been twelve years as far as you know,” Winchester offered as he set down the crystal award. “You said you’d not seen Rory for a year.”
Edwards nodded. “True.”
“We’ll be in touch in a day or two about your brother’s remains. The medical examiner will likely release the body by the end of the week.”
David shook his head. “There’s no rush at this point. It’s over for Rory.”
Neon lights blinked orange and red in the window of Mulligan’s bar. Greer Templeton pushed through the front door, stopping as her eyes adjusted from the bright afternoon sun to the dim light of the bar. Music played from an old-style jukebox in the corner. There was a long pine bar to her left, backed by a mirrored wall and shelves full of liquor bottles. Every wooden stool around the bar was full of someone with a drink. She searched the faces of the men, her scrutiny catching the attention of several. One grinned and, taking his half-filled beer mug with him, pushed off the stool and walked toward her. He was a tall, burly, jean-clad guy with weathered features and shoulder-length gray hair.
“You searching for me, little lady?” His gruff voice held a hint of humor. “I might be just what you need.”
Greer scanned the room, barely acknowledging the man. “Nope.”
“How do you know?” He didn’t shy away from openly studying her. “I might be just right for you.”
Greer met his gaze. “You’re not.”
The man’s smile faded. “I could make you want me.”
“Doubtful.” With a sharp glance, she dismissed him and the suggestive tone underlying his words. The man muttered an oath, but she didn’t bother to turn around as she moved away. She didn’t come into Austin during the day often and wasn’t accustomed to the crowds, noise, or congestion. Each time she did venture into town the population seemed to have doubled.
She made her way through the dim pub toward the back. The guy she wanted was young, tall, and wide-shouldered with posture like a soldier. And if she didn’t miss her guess, he had chosen the darkest, most secluded booth because it’s what she would have chosen.
She found him in the last booth, slumped over a half-eaten sandwich and staring into his beer. He was young. Barely over twenty, he had dark hair, tanned skin, and a square jaw. He wore a dark T-shirt, jeans, and a thick watch on his left wrist. His face retained a boyish quality contradicting coiled tautness reminiscent of a spring ready to pop.
Drawing in a breath, she questioned the sanity of her decision. She should leave well enough alone. Just walk away. Take care of number one. But a promise was a promise, and the sooner it was met the faster she could retreat.
Gritting her teeth, she slid into the opposite side of his booth. He glanced up, studied her, his gaze narrowing.
“My name is Greer.”
Dark circles under his eyes told her he wasn’t sleeping. And if she didn’t miss her guess, eating was a chore, and he’d pulled away from everyone who tried to help. He amounted to a lot of work and trouble.
Annoyed, he eased back against the back of the booth. He didn’t want her here, likely wanted to tell her to shove off, but something in him kept him from being overtly rude.
“You’re Mitch.”
He swirled the straw a bit faster in the soda as a subtle anxiety rippled through him. “Maybe.”
She really did not want to do this. She did not want to reach out, connect, or have contact with this kid and the pain he carried. But she had a debt. And she paid her debts.
She laid her palms on the table and stared at her deeply tanned hands before raising her gaze to him. “Mitch Bragg, right?”
“If my uncle has sent you to talk to me, I’m not buying. I want to be left alone.” Fatigue coated each word.
She understood that kind of fatigue. It ran bone deep and demanded he crawl into bed and pull the blankets over his head. That had been her once. And it had taken her a year to shake the exhaustion. “I’ve never met your uncle. And I honestly don’t care to.”
He arched a brow. “Who are you?”
“Greer.”
“I don’t know you.”
“I don’t know you, either.”
“Go away.”
“Believe me, I’d love to. In fact, nothing would make me happier right now.”
His scowl deepened. “Then go.”
She flatted her hands on the table. “I don’t come into town much, and I’m not a fan of crowds. They make me irritable. I’m hoping to get out of here before it gets too busy.”
A hint of knowing flickered in his gaze as he studied her, taking in her long braided brown hair, weathered blue T-shirt, jeans, and the two silver bracelets hugging her left wrist. “Get to the point.”
Several loud patrons burst through the front of the pub. Their loud laughter echoed off the dark walls covered with hundreds of photographs. Soon the place would be filling up, and she already itched to be in her truck driving out of town.
“A friend asked me to talk to you.”
“I don’t like to talk.”
“Thank God.” She didn’t hide her relief. “I don’t like to talk. So we will keep this short.”
He studied her, confusion seeping through annoyance. “You aren’t making sense.”
“I heard you needed a job. I need help. I run a vineyard outside of town.”
Amusement flickered behind the annoyance. “I don’t know a single fact about wine.”
“I need a strong man who can work the land. I don’t need experts. I’ve plenty of those. You’d be doing manual labor. You’ll start with picking weeds.”
“Why me?”
“Heard from a friend of a friend you could use a job and seeing Memorial Day just passed it makes sense to hire a vet.”
A bitter smile twisted the edge of his lips. “I’m your patriotic duty?”
“Maybe. Does it matter?”
“I don’t know.”
She pulled a card from her back pocket. “This is my place. About thirty miles outside of Austin in the Hill Country. We’re really not easy to find so you’ll have to be on the lookout for our sign. It’s small. If you want the work, then come. If you want to sit in the dark and drink warm beer and eat shitty food, have at it. Makes no difference to me. I promised I’d offer you work, and I’ve kept my promise.” In truth, she hoped he’d refuse. She didn’t want the weight of his grief when she had enough of her own.
“Who’d you promise?”
“Dr. Stewart.”
“The doc that runs the group?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you know him?”
“We’re on the board of the Crisis Center together. He was a good friend after my aunt died.”
He leaned back against the booth. “Why do you volunteer at the center?”
“I thought you didn’t like to talk?”
He shrugged.
“My personal history is boring, and why I volunteer is even less interesting. You need a job, and I’m here. That’s all that matters.”
Eyes narrowed as he studied her.
“The job is yours if you want it. But you’ll have to be at my place tomorrow at nine sharp.”
He flicked the edge of the card with his index finger. “I’m getting disability benefits. I don’t need money.”
“I’ve had a lot of money, and I’ve had none. There is more to life.”
He shook his head, his T-shirt shifted, and the top edge of a fresh tattoo peeked out from under his shirtsleeve. “Who are you?”
“I told you, I’m Greer and I own a vineyard.”
He shook his head. “No way. You can’t be more than thirty.”
“Twenty-eight to be exact and I inherited it.” She rubbed her hand over the silver bracelets on her wrist. “You want the job or not?”
“I don’t know you.”
“I don’t know you, and I’m taking the bigger risk. But Dr. Stewart vouched for you. That’s enough.”
“Why take a risk on me?”
She tipped her head back, trying to quell her frustration. She wasn’t so annoyed with him as herself. She had a million chores to do other than coaxing a wounded bird to safety. “Like I said, I owe a favor.”
“What kind of favor?”
“None of your business.”
“Do you always find strangers and offer them work?”
That made her smile. “Do you always ask so many questions?”
“Yeah.”
The crowd in the bar grew louder and without turning she knew more people had come into the place. The more people came in here the greater the chance she’d be recognized. And she wasn’t ready to answer questions about the past. “As much as I’d love to chat, like I said I don’t care for crowds or places like this. If you want the job, be at the vineyard tomorrow by nine.”
“This makes no sense.”
She shook her head as she rose. “No, I guess not.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“I won’t. You’d be doing me a favor by not coming.” The uncensored honesty caught him off guard. “You always mean?”
For a long tense moment she did not speak. Old feelings kicked and scratched her insides. “You remind me of myself.”
He shook his head. “We are nothing alike, lady. You can’t pretend to know me.”
“But I do,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I know what it’s like to see loved ones die. I know what it’s like to have others tell you the accident wasn’t your fault and to know deep in your heart it was. I know how to second-guess and to wonder. If I’d been faster. Quicker. Or sharper. If it hadn’t been dark or so late at night. I’ve lived with the
ifs
every day for the last twelve years.”
He paled as if he’d been punched in the gut, but he remained silent.
“I know what it feels like to carry pain so heavy my knees wanted to buckle.”
Dropping his gaze, he cleared his throat before he met her steady stare. “You plan to fix me?”
Greer shook her head. “I’m no savior. And I can’t say for sure if I’m fixed. But I can offer you a job that will work you so hard you’ll collapse into bed at night. The job isn’t glamorous, but it has purpose. A reason to get up in the morning and put one foot in front of the other.”